


When All is Said and Done

by Pixxit



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 00:03:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixxit/pseuds/Pixxit
Summary: Yanagi covets.  Oh, how he covets.





	1. Chapter 1

   
   
Yanagi wonders if the people around him are even half so content with their lives as he is with his own.  The boys and girls he goes to school with – faces he sees nearly every day, but who really mean nothing to him – wearing identical expressions of concentration, of focus.  He wonders if they focus so intently because they're eager to succeed or if they do it merely because it's expected of them.  He thinks about his own family and their subtle influence on his life, on his actions, and he thinks about his teammates who share many of his own goals.  He doesn't have to wonder about them so much, they're bound by a common thread.  A shared history, a similar path.   
   
"Renji."  
   
He looks up, blinking at the sunlight that blinds him when Yukimura moves aside.   
   
"What time is it?" he asks, glancing at his watch even as Yukimura begins to gather what remains of his lunch.  Yukimura keeps his head down, uninterested in the attention he garners simply by moving.   
   
"Time to go," Yukimura tells him.  "We didn't get as far as I'd have liked, anyway.  We'll probably just have to start over."  
   
"Genichirou left early today, anyway," Yanagi reminds him.  "He'd want us to wait."  
   
Yukimura makes an impatient sound and packs his things away into the compact, leather bag he carries.  "I spoke to him before Civics.  He was fine, then."  
   
Following just behind, Yanagi shrugs, glances up at the sky – there are no clouds.  "It's hot today.  Perhaps he became overheated."  
   
Shooting Yanagi a baleful glance over his shoulder, Yukimura ignores the small cluster of girls who huddle together in barely concealed excitement when he stops just in their path.  "He'd just left Home Ec."  
   
"Oh," is all that Yanagi says when he shoulders his bag and stretches both arms overhead lazily.  The very excited chatter of the junior girls to their left is indication enough that he and Yukimura are precisely what they'd been giggling and whispering about all through lunch.  He reaches higher, baring the tiniest bit of skin over his belt and smiles when Yukimura frowns in his direction.  The girls don't bother Yanagi – he ignored them earlier and he ignores them now.   
   
"Have a heart, Seiichi," he says, self-satisfied and smug.  "Your vice-captain is ill; shouldn't you be a little concerned for his health?"  
   
Brows drawn, Yukimura's expression darkens and Yanagi is momentarily at a loss for words.  Tease him as he might, Yukimura alone possesses the ability rob Yanagi of speech with nothing more than a glance. Yanagi prefers not to think on it overmuch; it's not a topic he feels comfortable pursuing.  Not even in the relative secrecy of his own thoughts.  
   
Lips parted as though to offer a retort, Yukimura steps back when he notices Kirihara jogging toward them along the line of hedges and late-flowering plants.   
   
"Senpai!" he calls out, waving to the both of them.  All long legs and as yet unmastered control, the boy promises to be all that Yukimura expects him to be and more.  
   
"Hm," Yukimura murmurs.  "Speaking of concern, shouldn't you be spending time with your kouhai?  It has been a full half-day since he's had your undivided attention."  
   
"Perhaps it's not my attention he's after," is all that Yanagi says, sparing a faint smile for Kirihara as he draws nearer.   
   
"Don't bet on it," Yukimura says cryptically, shielding his eyes with his hand when he tips his head heavenward.  
   
Yanagi doesn't offer a response; he doesn't need to get the last word in every situation, after all.  He's not Marui.  
   
Kirihara is breathing fast when he stops before them.  His hair is a riot of damp, black curls and Yanagi is, for a moment, afraid to ask what he's been up to.   
   
"Senpai, I've been looking all over for you!"  
   
Rummaging through his bag, Yukimura laughs.  "It must be good, then."  
   
"Huh?" Kirihara tilts his head, regarding Yukimura curiously.  "You didn't hear, Buchou?  About Sanada-senpai?"  
   
Yukimura rolls his eyes and turns toward the sidewalk.   
   
Turning that same curious expression to Yanagi, Kirihara steps closer to him, lowering his voice conspiratorially.  "Did I say something wrong?"  
   
"Probably.  But that's his problem, not yours."  Laying one hand on Kirihara's shoulder, Yanagi offers him a faint smile of encouragement.  "What was that about Sanada?"  
   
Beaming, as though he'd almost forgotten the reason he'd run his senpai down in the first place, Kirihara straightens his shoulders – he is as tall as Yanagi, now – and makes no move to dislodge Yanagi's hand.  "He barfed – right in front of the gym – just puked all over the place.  It was really gross, senpai."  
   
Barely able to maintain his placid expression, Yanagi glances after Yukimura, who is walking slowly and feigning disinterest.  "And? Then what?"  
   
"Oh, nothing.  He stood there for a few minutes with his big red face until Jackal took him to the clinic."  
   
"Hm," is all that Yanagi says.  He pats Kirihara's shoulder and spares him a quick smile.  "You'd better go, Akaya.  You'll be late."  
   
Tossing his head to get his hair out of his eyes, Kirihara grins and Yanagi is taken aback, and not for the first time, by the changes the past year have wrought in his kouhai.  He imagines that it's only a matter of time before Akaya becomes interested in girls and he knows that, when it happens, their dynamic will change.  Kirihara won't depend on him so much, won't need him around as often, and won’t want his input on even the smallest details of his life.  It makes Yanagi a little sad to know that it's inevitable, but then he glances at Yukimura.   
   
Already walking away, he is all grace and self-assurance.  He is perfectly tailored uniforms and silky, wavy hair and pale, pale skin under the mid-day sun.  He is miserable, aching longing and unspoken desires.  Yanagi wonders if watching Yukimura walk away is the very best he can hope for.  When the first bell rings, Yanagi startles, glancing around to see that both Yukimura and Kirihara have gone.   
   
 

\+ + +

   
   
The afternoon sun is warm on Yanagi's neck through his blazer.  Yukimura, who trudges dutifully alongside him, has not said a single word since quietly taking his place at Yanagi's side just outside the school's main entrance.  It's not so unusual, really – they do this everyday – but without Sanada between them, the silence is deafening.   
   
Yukimura goes before Yanagi when they climb the steps to Sanada's front door, and there is nothing of his empty silence when Sanada's mother opens the door.  On her, Yukimura bestows his best and brightest smile and Yanagi looks away when she smiles back, full of welcome and genuine happiness to see Sanada's classmates.  
   
"Genichirou is feeling under the weather, but I can't imagine his not wanting a visit from the two of _you_."  
   
The 'you' is heavy, full of meaning that Yanagi is unwilling to explore.  And so he covers his discomfort with polite, meaningless chatter – something else Yukimura has unwittingly taught him to do.   
   
"Is he very ill, Sanada-san?" he asks, standing too close to Yukimura in the small foyer while he tries not to notice how graceful Yukimura manages to appear merely in the act of taking off his shoes.  "He seemed fine this morning."  
   
"No, he didn't," Yukimura interjects, glancing around placidly, as though he is taking in his surroundings for the very first time.  "He was pale earlier," he says, shrugging lightly.  "Probably just a virus."  
   
Yanagi falls silent, his hands curling into fists when Sanada's mother ushers Yukimura into the kitchen and then gestures Yanagi to follow.  He suspects that Yukimura isn't half so interested in Sanada's well-being as he pretends to be, but there is nothing he can say about it now.  There will be nothing he can say about it later, come to that, but Yanagi doesn't allow himself to dwell on those things he cannot change.   
   
The hallway is quiet, unlit, and there is no sound on the other side of Sanada's bedroom door when his mother knocks softly, calls his name.  After a moment, she opens the door to peer inside.  Satisfied that Sanada is not naked or changing clothes or anything of a similarly embarrassing nature, she pushes the door open wide and waves the two boys inside.  
   
"Gen-chan," she says.  "Gen-chan, you have visitors.  Seiichi-kun and Renji-kun are worried about you, see?"  
   
Shifting beneath his blankets, Sanada attempts to rise and grimaces instead.  
   
"Lie still, Genichirou," Yanagi says, crossing the floor to sit down beside the bed.  His back is to the wall, just the way it always seems to be when he finds himself between Sanada and Yukimura.  "We didn't come to be entertained."  
   
"Speak for yourself, Renji," Yukimura says lightly, taking a seat at the foot of Sanada's bed.  Sanada curls his legs up, making room for Yukimura in an attempt to keep any physical contact to a minimum.  It doesn't work – Yukimura pats his leg and laughs.  "I'd like Genichirou to sing for me."  
   
Laughing quietly, Sanada's mother excuses herself and closes the door behind her. The moment the door clicks into place, Yukimura slaps Sanada's leg through the thin blanket he's wrapped so snugly inside.   
   
"Genichirou, you big baby.  What would the rest of the team say if they could see you like this?"  
   
"Akaya already has.  Oh, and Jackal, as well," Yanagi offers helpfully.  
   
Sanada groans.  "I don't care what anyone thinks.  I'm dying."  
   
"Nonsense," Yukimura says, leaning back against the wall to press his cheek against it and smiles serenely.  "I was dying and I beat it.  I expect no less from you."  
   
Declining to answer, Sanada merely tugs his blanket up higher and turns his face toward the pillow.  While Yukimura is easily able to make light of his illness and the time he spent in the hospital, Sanada is not.  The mere mention of that time in their lives is enough to send Sanada right back into the past and he relives it all again.  Every agonizing, uncertain, terrible moment – packed into the span of a few seconds.  Yanagi suspects that Yukimura is at least partially aware of this, but he gives nothing away of his intentions.   
   
"Just a stomach flu, then, Genichirou?" Yanagi asks.   
   
Before Sanada can answer, Yukimura sits upright again.  "You'd better not give me your germs."  
   
Sanada curls up pitifully.  "I don't know what's wrong.  I just started feeling awful earlier."  The tone of his voice gives every indication that he is _still_  feeling awful and it is in this way that Yanagi knows they are being asked to leave.   
   
Nodding once, he rises, patting Sanada's shoulder before moving away.  "We're not staying.  We just wanted to make sure you were going to be all right.  Do you need anything?"  
   
"Can you make it go away?"  
   
Yanagi smiles.  "I'm afraid not."  
   
Sanada's attempt at smiling is a ghost, a shadow of what Yanagi knows he wants it to be, but the effort is enough.  "Didn't think so."  
   
Yukimura laughs.  "Don't worry, Gen-chan," he teases, leaning in much closer than he'd given any indication that he might.  Yukimura wasn't afraid of a stomach flu.  Yukimura wasn't afraid of _anything_.  "If you stay away too long, we'll send Akaya over to take care of you."  
   
The expression on Sanada's face goes much further in indicating his feelings on the subject of having Akaya play nursemaid for him than any words he might find.  He tugs the sheet over his head and groans in abject misery, Akaya forgotten in another wave of nausea.   
   
Yukimura leans in to rest his forehead against Sanada's through the blanket he still hides behind.  Yanagi watches, nearly shocked at his familiarity.  "Feel better.  Rest."  
   
Beneath his blankets, Sanada goes very still.  Yanagi opens the door.  
   
Outside, the sun has already begun its descent into the horizon and Yanagi regards the sky before him – huge, warm, and streaked with all the colors that he likes best – when Yukimura hooks one arm through his own.   
   
Just like that, the silence that existed between them before is forgotten.  Yanagi wonders if he is expected to pretend it had never been there in the first place.  In any event, Yukimura gives no cues one way or the other.  If he is going to be completely honest, Yanagi would have to admit that he doesn't want any.   
   
"Poor Sanada.  Why do you torture him so, Seiichi?"   
   
Yukimura chuckles, resting his head on Yanagi's shoulder as they stroll along the cracked sidewalk and it is difficult for Yanagi to tell whose shadow is longer.  For a moment, he is tempted to step on Yukimura's shadow.  
   
 _Tag, Seichii!  You're it!  
   
Idiot!  I'm not it, you're it! _  
   
He wonders if Yukimura would play along.  If he would give chase and tackle Yanagi from behind to drag him down and declare his status as winner and reigning shadow tag champion.  Highly unlikely, but Yanagi smiles, imagining it.   
   
"Maybe I like to see the stoic squirm," he says.  
   
"Maybe?" Yanagi repeats, barely able to resist leaning his head against Yukimura's, barely able to resist closing his eyes and losing himself in the way it feels to be close to something so magnificent.  "I don't think it's a _maybe_  at all."  
   
Yukimura is silent and Yanagi's heart skips a beat when he sighs softly.  In that moment – in the width and breadth of that one, expectant moment – the air is thick and the sun slides out of view.  
   
"I do it because he needs it," he finally says.  His voice is soft and almost hesitant, as though he is imparting some secret.  "Genichirou is alone, Renji.  Within himself, you know?  He's all alone."  
   
Yanagi's chest constricts and he imagines how completely ridiculous it would be for him to become misty-eyed over a few words that he _knows_  are completely off the cuff.  Crying for Sanada in the dusk.  For something that he doesn't know and isn't privy to and will never be presumptuous enough to assume.   _He_  doesn't know Sanada's heart.  
   
"It's good that he has us," Yukimura says, nodding to himself and pulling away from Yanagi.  The moment stretches thin between them and then it's gone.  Just like the sun.  Just like every fleeting emotion Yukimura stirs within Yanagi.  "Right, Renji? Isn't it good?"  
   
It's a trick question and one that Renji knows he's not required to answer.  He walks behind Yukimura now and there is no shadow to step on, no way to hold him in place.  
   
Silence descends once more, but Yanagi consoles himself with the thoughtful farewell that Yukimura offers him when they go their separate ways.  He wants to call after Yukimura, wants to ask if he sleeps easier now that the sickness has left him.  Certain that the answer would be 'yes', he would tell Yukimura that he, himself, doesn't sleep so well these days.  
 

\+ + +

   
Sanada is not at school the following day.  Yanagi has not called him and is not planning to embarrass him by doing so.  By that same token, he assumes that Yukimura has called him at least twice, if only to remind him of the piss-poor example he's setting for the underclassmen.  
   
Practice is what it always is in that Yukimura watches each team member with a calculating, unforgiving eye while still managing to lounge around with Marui.  Watching them, Yanagi is struck, again, by the allowances Yukimura seems to allow with certain people.  He's always been close with Marui, but doesn't seem to place the same rigid expectations on him the way he does with Sanada.  Yanagi imagines that the only reason he doesn't pull the same stunts with _him_  is because he knows better.   
   
Standing just on the edge of the court, Yanagi observes everyone, committing the important details to memory - the odd undercurrent between Niou and Yagyuu, the way Jackal keeps checking his cell phone when he kneels beside his bag for water, Kirihara's exceptional aggression toward the second year he rallies with.   
   
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Yanagi glances at his watch.  He wants the day to be over.  Two practices and five hours of classes have done nothing toward distracting him when it comes to his restless, conflicted thoughts and he is undecided as to whether he wants to ignore Yukimura or back him against a wall to force a confrontation.   
   
In the end, he knows he will do neither.  But pretending that he has the option helps to alleviate his restlessness, somewhat.   
   
He walks toward the clubhouse alone when practice has ended.  If Sanada were present, they'd likely have kept one another company while Yukimura lounged around with Marui, displaying a rare sort of frivolity that he seldom afforded either of them.  Yanagi doesn't take offense though, where Sanada might.  Yukimura is hardest on the ones he truly cares about; that he can be so lax with Marui only confirms Yanagi's suspicions that their friendship is not a very deep one.  The realization placates him somewhat; makes him smug and self-important.   
   
"Cat who swallowed the canary," Yagyuu murmurs as he passes by.  He doesn't look back and Niou – despite their proximity – doesn't seem to hear.  Yanagi doesn't respond, merely watches the two boys sally past, one so rangy and irreverent and the other all poise and confident grace.   
   
He leans against the wall of sectioned cubby spaces, observing his teammates with an odd sort of detachment.  It's a game he plays sometimes – removing himself emotionally until he is able to regard his friends as a stranger might.  It's what makes him an excellent strategist.  It's what draws Yukimura to him.   
   
Standing with his back turned to the rest of the team, Yukimura has stripped to his shorts.  His skin is pale and almost sallow under the cheap lighting, but Yanagi knows that it will look much different in the soft lighting of his bedroom.  No longer interested in taking part in the playful, meaningless discussion going on all around him, Yukimura wipes his torso with a small hand towel.  Yanagi knows that he won't be showering here, today.  
   
Niou is already walking away from him, naked and almost sauntering toward the showers.  Yanagi is not fooled, however, and notices the uncharacteristic quickening of his footsteps.  Following just behind him is Yagyuu, whose towel is swathed tightly about his hips.  He walks quickly and with purpose, but there is no doubt in Yanagi's mind that, of the two of them, Yagyuu is far less concerned with his own nudity than Niou is.   
   
Taking his time at his cubby, Marui tugs off his shoes and socks.  The summer has seen him tanner and thinner than the winter before and Yanagi can't help noticing the solicitous way Jackal hangs back, waiting for him.  Every so often, he glances at Marui, though his gaze never lingers and – all the while – he regales the others with a very detailed, highly improbable tale of a girl he met on the train.  Marui listens with only half an ear and, when he rolls the waistband of his shorts down to expose his hips and obvious tan-lines, Jackal falters.  Yanagi admires his recovery, though, and wonders if Yukimura is listening to a word that anyone is saying.   
   
"Senpai, aren't you going to shower?" Kirihara asks him, face falling when Yanagi shakes his head.   
   
"I don't need to," Yanagi says, planning to wear his practice uniform home so that he can wash it that night.  "You go ahead."  
   
Kirihara hesitates, knowing that Yanagi will be gone when he emerges again and Yanagi considers him mildly.   
   
"Did you need something, Akaya?"  
   
"Yeah, Akaya," Marui speaks up.  "You afraid you won't get to see Yanagi in the buff or something?  You got a secret you want to tell?"  
   
Immediately red-faced, Kirihara swipes at Marui, who dances just out of his reach.  "Ahaha, Akaya.  You can't touch this genius.  I was just kidding, anyway.  Loosen up."  
   
Marui walks away, then, warbling some awful American pop-song.  Jackal follows.  Neither of them glance back at Kirihara, who sits down heavily on the bench and tugs off his t-shirt.  "Asshole," he mutters.  
   
Yanagi doesn't answer, content to watch Yukimura stuff his practice clothes into a green duffle bag and tighten the laces on his trainers.   
   
"Senpai?" Kirihara says again, voice smaller now.   
   
"Hm?" Yanagi answers, tearing his attention away from Yukimura to focus on Kirihara.  
   
"Don't pay any attention to Marui-senpai.  I don't," he looks away, swallowing hard and blushing.  "I don't want to see you.  In the shower, I mean."  
Yanagi smiles, leaning in to ruffle Kirihara's sweat-dampened curls.  Of the lot of them, Kirihara is always the sweatiest after practice.  Yanagi is surprised by the sudden rush of protective emotions Kirihara's vulnerability rouses in him and he wastes no time in reassuring his kouhai.   
   
"I figured," he says, motioning to the showers.  "Go on ahead.  Waste too much time and you won't be able to walk home with Niou and Yagyuu."  
   
"Crap!" Kirihara exclaims, rising to hop over the bench.  "I hate taking the bus by myself."  Over his shoulder he calls out, "See you later, Senpai, Buchou!"  
   
It is then, and only then, that Yukimura turns to face Yanagi.  The changing room is empty and despite the sound of their teammates just around the corner, it's as if they're completely alone.   
   
Yanagi speaks first, breaking the silence the way he knows Yukimura expects him to.  They aren't fighting, nothing has occurred between them that requires an understanding to be reached, but Yukimura is no idiot.  He senses Yanagi's distance; he doesn't appreciate it.  
   
"You want to come home with me?" he asks, tone light.  
   
In answer, Yukimura merely raises an eyebrow.  
   
"We can finish the plan we never got around to yesterday."  
   
"Am I spending the night?" he asks, just as unconcerned as Yanagi's tone was before.  
   
"If you feel like it," Yanagi says.  "We've probably missed dinner at my house – we'll have to forage for ourselves."  
   
Yukimura shrugs as though he doesn't care either way.  He doesn't have much of an appetite even during the off-season.  When he's training, Yanagi wonders how he manages to consume enough nutrients to keep his energy and stamina up.  He doesn't question it, though – he knows better.  
   
"I'll have to call my mother."  
   
Yanagi nods once, shouldering his bag and turning away.  He feels Yukimura at his side; smells his shampoo and the very faint scent of his body.  He knows that Yukimura will have to borrow his pajamas and probably even an undershirt and shorts for tomorrow.  The thought excites him and he lets his wrist brush the sleeve of Yukimura's jacket when they make their way outside again.  
   
"We should call Genichirou," he says, walking along the curb so that Yukimura doesn't have to.   
   
"No," Yukimura tells him, reaching into his bag for an apple and polishing it against his t-shirt.  "I already did."  
   
Yanagi doesn't ask what Sanada had to say.  He won't give Yukimura the satisfaction.   
 

\+ + +

   
The kitchen is dark, but Yanagi doesn't turn on any of the lights.  His parents are out for the evening and he and Yukimura have the house to themselves.  It's times like these that Yanagi truly makes the most of his solitude.  He walks about the house, in the dark, pretending that he lives alone and that the house belongs to him.  Now, with Yukimura in the bathroom, showering and preparing for bed, he can pretend whatever he likes.  But Yanagi is fond of logic, of reality, and so his fantasies never go _too_  far.   
   
Yukimura's footsteps are light in the hallway, his slippers muffling the sound his bare feet might have made on the hardwood floor.  He drifts into the kitchen with a soft sigh of contentment, his hair still damp and a towel draped around his neck.   
   
"Feel better?" Yanagi asks, leaning against the counter to light a small, white candle.  
   
"Mm.  Looks like we got back just in time," he says, motioning to the water-streaked window above the sink.   
   
Yanagi shrugged.  The downpour had been brief and had become, soon after, nothing more than a pleasant drizzle.  "A little rain never hurt anyone."  
   
"So you say."  
   
Moving closer, Yukimura eyes the refrigerator before leaning against the counter.  There is little space between them and, though it is dark, Yanagi cannot turn his eyes away.  
   
"Just my luck," he continues, "you'd get wet and fall ill and both you _and_  Genichirou would be down for the count."  
   
"And why is it me who falls ill, hm?"  Yanagi asks mildly.  "If you're caught in the same downpour, I'd think we were both at risk."  
   
Yukimura shakes his head – just once – and moves closer to Yanagi, toward the cupboard where he knows the instant noodles are kept.  "Not me."   
   
He doesn't elaborate, but Yanagi doesn't really need him to.  He turns sideways, giving Yukimura just enough room to edge past, but doesn't move away.  He likes that they're too close, likes that Yukimura has nowhere to go.  
   
Rummaging through the cupboard, Yukimura glances sideways at Yanagi.  His hand is poised just over a package of ramen but he doesn't pick it up.  "What?"  
   
"Nothing.  I'm just watching you.  Does it bother you?"  
   
So close, Yukimura smells like Yanagi's shampoo.  His hair curls softly about his face and he smiles when he leans in closer.  "Why would it?"  
   
Yanagi doesn't answer right away and Yukimura's smile becomes something else; something smug and sure.  As though he's gained ground or tipped the scales in his favor.  But Yanagi isn't interested in keeping score any longer – he is entirely unable to view the situation in any sort of objectionable light.  And he knows it.  
   
He doesn't put his hands on Yukimura, not yet, but he crowds him against the cupboard until the counter presses uncomfortably into his lower back. Yukimura grimaces, but he doesn't flinch.   
   
"How about now?" Yanagi asks, voice smug and sure the way Yukimura's expression was only moments ago.   
   
"You're not watching me now.  You're in my face."  He pauses, straightens against the counter, though it doesn't help him to gain any inches on Yanagi.  "Renji.  Move."  
   
"What am I to you?" Yanagi asks, searching Yukimura's expression for any hint, any clue as to what he might really be feeling.  It won't be fear, Yanagi knows that much, and it won't be true anger.   
   
"What?" Yukimura's brow furrows and he presses one hand to Yanagi's chest to halt his progress.  "What are you talking about?  You're what you've always been."  
   
"Yes," Yanagi agrees, feeling Yukimura's hand on his chest as though he's not wearing anything at all.  "I get that.  But what is it, Seichii?  You never say it.  Not to me, not to Genichirou."  
   
Suspicious now, Yukimura's eyes narrow.  "What does Genichirou have to do with anything?"  
   
"You're my best friend, Seichii," Yanagi says, gripping Yukimura's wrist and trying to stifle the hot spike of excitement that is his when he feels the fragile bones beneath Yukimura's pale, soft skin.  "You're the best friend I've ever had.  You and Genichirou."  
   
Yukimura's eyes widen, as though he'd been expecting more cryptic sarcasm or even a put-upon sort of irritation.  Yukimura is good at games, good with riddles and puzzles.  What he is not so adept at is truth, reality – the things that both Yanagi and Sanada cannot function without.  
   
"Renji," he begins, voice much softer than before when he'd likely thought all of this was nothing more than a game, a way to tip the scales between them.  It makes Yanagi sick to imagine it; they are not Niou and Yagyuu.   
   
"Seichii," Yanagi says, lifting Yukimura's arm to drape it over his shoulder and pull him closer.  Yukimura goes, but his eyes are wide and his body is tense.  "It's not enough.  It's too much."  
   
Wrapping his other arm around Yukimura's waist, Yanagi holds him close – like he's never dared before – and his voice, when he speaks, gives away every secret desire he's worked so hard to conceal.   
   
Yukimura doesn't speak and he makes no move to reciprocate Yanagi's sudden affection.  Yanagi knows that he is unused to such intimacy, so accustomed to pretending that he has no need for this sort of closeness with anyone, but he is unwilling to accept Yukimura's defenses as easily as he has in the past.  
   
"Let go of me," he murmurs, shifting against Yanagi, the look in his eyes hard and cold.  "Now, Renji."  
   
"Is it this that you object to?" he asks, hand splayed at the small of Yukimura's back to prevent his escaping so easily.  "Or is it _me_?"  
   
Yukimura doesn't answer, but it doesn't matter.  Yanagi is already leaning in, closing his eyes, pressing his mouth to Yukimura's pale, thin lips.  "It can't be me," he whispers.  "Who's closer to you than I am, Seiichi?"  
   
The rain is a rhythmic pitter-pat against the window and Yukimura's lips are soft and cool beneath his own.  It's obvious to him that Yukimura is inexperienced and he wonders if Yukimura is thinking the same thing about him.  He wonders if Yukimura is thinking about him, at all, in fact.   
   
But then he gets both arms around Yukimura and the kiss remains unbroken and he realizes that he has no idea what he's doing or where this is going.  He wishes he could say it, wishes he could trust Yukimura with his heart, but doesn't quite dare.  He knows Yukimura far, far too well to ever show him so convenient a weakness.   
   
His lips are hot now, soft and clingy against Yanagi's, and he can't call back the sounds he makes so low in his throat when Yukimura parts his lips to taste his tongue.  Yanagi wants to push, to insist, to claim – but he knows that the control is not his.  Instead, he shifts against Yukimura, easing one leg between both of Yukimura's and he moans, in spite of himself, when Yukimura tips his head back and shudders against him.   
   
"Seichii," he murmurs, lips hot at Yukimura's neck when he presses tight against him to rub between Yukimura's legs with his thigh.   
   
It's too much.  Yukimura sucks in a breath and pushes Yanagi – hard.   
   
There is space between them, now.  Space and distrust and shock and the terrible, sobering realization that the one kiss that they have shared is not going to be enough.   
   
The combined sounds of their breathing is louder than the rain and, in the near-darkness, Yanagi can see the way Yukimura's eyes flash.   
   
He doesn't ask Yanagi what he thinks he's doing or if he's thinking at all.  He doesn't ask why, doesn't become accusatory or angry.  But the look in his eyes is not the confident, driven sort of determination that Yanagi is used to.   
   
Yukimura is guarded, defensive, unsure.  He licks his lips, as though tasting Yanagi still, and swipes at the corner of his mouth with one knuckle before he brushes his hair back calmly.  He takes a little breath and Yanagi realizes that he is still holding _his_.  He realizes that he's going to have to say something – anything – to return the situation to something resembling normalcy.  
   
"I don't know why-" he begins, thinking to offer an excuse, an apology, even though he is the furthest from sorry that he's ever been.   
   
Yukimura shakes his head though, swallowing hard when he moves away from the counter.  "Let's go," he says, voice hard.  "If we get started now we can finish the month's plan."  
   
He turns toward the hallway, dinner forgotten.   
   
"What about Genichirou?" he asks.  "You don't want his input?"  
   
Yukimura glances over his shoulder, but doesn't say a word.  His eyes are cold, hard, and Yanagi can feel the temperature in the room plummet.  Wisely, he doesn't speak again and when he rounds the counter, he takes in the stiff line of Yukimura's back – each tentative, careful step he takes.   
   
His legs are shaking.  
 

\+ + +

   
   
Over the next couple of days, Yukimura only speaks to Yanagi of tennis.  They confer about strategy and about placement and about Kirihara's timing when he uses his split step.  They invite Sanada into each and every conversation they have. Their teamwork is faultless, as it always is.  But Yukimura gives away nothing personal of himself and Yanagi possesses too much dignity to push the issue.  If Sanada suspects that anything is amiss, he doesn't mention it.  But then, Sanada never speaks unnecessarily.  
   
Yukimura turns, motioning to the players littering the courts before him.  "That's enough, team," he calls out.  "Let's call it a day."  
   
He falls back, lets the team go ahead of him while he tugs off his wristbands and wipes his face with a towel.  Yanagi walks beside him, though neither of them speak.  Behind them, Sanada trudges along, feeling better now but still weak, and Yanagi doesn't turn around when he hears Kirihara's voice.   
   
"So did it work, Sanada-senpai?"  
   
Sanada grunts; Yanagi can almost hear him tugging the brim of his hat down to hide whatever expression should happen to show on his face.   
   
"Yes.  Thank you."  
   
"I thought it would," Kirihara says.  Yanagi can hear the excitement in his voice – it almost makes him smile.  "My mom swears by it and every time somebody in the family starts yakking, she makes them eat it and you were probably totally dehydrated, Sanada-senpai.  I bet the broth was really good, wasn't it?"  
   
"Yes," Sanada says again, voice low and gruff.  "I-I appreciate that you thought of me, Kirihara-kun."  
   
"Hey, it's no sweat, Senpai!" Kirihara calls over his shoulder as he begins to jog up to the front of the crowd.  He turns then, jogging backwards.  "I'll come get the bowl tomorrow, okay?  I'll bring my X-Box!"  
   
He doesn’t wait for Sanada's okay, just turns and dodges one of the older boys before sneaking up behind Marui to grab both sides of his shorts as though he intends to pants him.   
   
"Akaya!" Marui screeches, grabbing at his waistband and kicking out at Kirihara, who jumps aside, cackling.   
   
Over his shoulder, Yanagi quirks a brow at Sanada, who is red-faced and avoiding his friend's gaze.   
   
"Little Akaya nursing you back to health, Gen-chan?" Yukimura asks, sounding more like himself than Yanagi has heard in days.  
   
Sanada blushes again.  "No.  He brought over some soup his mother made."  
   
"And now you're holing up at your place playing video games?"  
   
"I didn't say yes," Sanada mutters.  
   
"You didn't say no, either," Yukimura says, pushing open the door and heading for his cubby.  The conversation is over and all Yanagi can do is hold the door for Sanada and hope he can feel Yanagi's sympathy.   
   
They shower today and Kirihara seems to take extra care in avoiding contact with his senpai until after he's put his clothes back on.  Despite Yanagi's reassurance a few days ago, it's clear that Marui's teasing had found its mark.  
   
The other boys are quick to shower, dress and hurry home – many of them have chores or homework to do – and Yanagi is surprised to realize that Yukimura lingers still.  Kirihara follows Jackal and Marui out, waving to Yanagi, Sanada and Yukimura as he goes.   
   
"See you later, Senpai!  Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"  
   
Yukimura snorts.  "That leaves assault open."  
   
"Yes," Yanagi agrees.  "Arson, too, I imagine."  
   
"That fire was an accident," Sanada chimes in, tucking in his shirt and hefting his bag.   
   
"Of course it was," Yukimura agrees.  "Goodnight, Genichirou."  
   
Standing where he is, clearly not anticipating being so summarily dismissed when he'd likely imagined that they'd all three be catching the bus together, Sanada exchanges a brief, embarrassed look with Yanagi before murmuring a farewell.  And then he is gone.  
   
"What was that all about?" Yanagi asks, tone purposefully light and unconcerned.  "We haven't seen much of Genichirou in days and all you can do is give him shit."  
   
Turning, Yukimura lays his math text on the bench and regards Yanagi mildly.  "If you're so concerned, why don't you go after him, Renji, hm?"  
   
Frowning, Yanagi picks up his bag and stares back.  The very last thing he intends to do is give away another victory simply because Yukimura is in a mood.   
   
"Then you can invite him over to your house and stick your tongue in his mouth and try to feel his ass.  Maybe that'll soothe his hurt feelings."  
   
Yanagi is silent, outwardly cool, while inside he is seething.   
   
Yukimura moves closer.  He doesn't look away, he doesn't appear angry.  "You didn't think I'd just forget about it, did you, Renji?"  
   
He doesn't wait for an answer, doesn't require one.  "But I've decided that I don't want to talk about it."  
   
Up close, Yukimura's eyes are dark, his lips pale, and it's all Yanagi can do to keep his hands at his sides when suddenly – without any provocation at all – Yukimura shoves him back against the wall, hard.  
   
Yanagi doesn't give it up – he is as cool as Yukimura – and he tilts his head in calm contemplation.   Yukimura steps closer still, so close that his hips are touching Yanagi's.   
   
He leans in, chest to chest, and even as he grabs a handful of Yanagi's collar, he shoves one hand into Yanagi's pants.  Beneath the elastic waistband of his shorts and into his underwear, he grips Yanagi's dick in a firm, sure hold.  Yanagi sucks in a breath.  
   
"I was surprised," he says, voice nearly a whisper, "when you didn't touch me again that night."  
   
Yanagi does not answer, cannot answer, and he flattens his palms against the wall behind him when Yukimura cups him, rubs him.  Almost immediately, he's erect and Yukimura begins to stroke him quickly.  He doesn’t falter, doesn't hesitate, and Yanagi tips his head back to rest against the wall.   
   
"I was surprised that you did it at all," he continues, breath hot against Yanagi's lips though he makes no move to kiss him.  "I didn't know you swung that way."  
   
Unable to catch his breath long enough to tell Yukimura that he doesn't _swing_  at all, Yanagi grunts and grips Yukimura's shoulder to steady himself.   
   
Yukimura is silent then, lips pressed tightly together though his eyes are fever-bright, and his hand on Yanagi is rough, fast.  His breathing never changes tempo but Yanagi’s is not the same; breathing hard through his nose while he stares into Yukimura's eyes.  He remembers how Yukimura tasted that night with the rain steady falling outside and the candlelight flickering, casting shadows on the walls, and all he wants is Yukimura's mouth pressed to his again.  He knows it won't happen, knows it just as surely as he knows that he is going to come in his pants – in Yukimura's hand – and the scales will tip unfavorably once more.  
   
He is panting now, fingers tight in Yukimura's shirtsleeve and his legs tremble when his belly tightens.   
   
"Seichii," he murmurs, wanting to lean his head against Yukimura's shoulder even as he knows he won't.  That he will concede is already a given and the look in Yukimura's eyes gives every indication that he is just as certain.   
   
His knees lock and the breath catches in his throat, and even as he tugs hard on Yukimura's shirt in an attempt to gather him close, Yanagi is all alone in the pleasure Yukimura affords him.  He cannot stifle the sound he makes and when he relents, groaning in near-defeat, the fight he wants to give is as empty as he is, clinging to Yukimura's fingertips and making his underwear sticky and wet.  
   
Yukimura sighs, as though he's been holding his breath too, and as he wipes the palm of his hand across Yanagi's belly, says, "We're even, now."  
   
There is no warmth between them as he turns, taking away his heat and his breath and the closeness that Yanagi would have given just about anything to have again.  He can hear Yukimura just around the corner, washing his hands in the small ceramic sink and he knows that he should be the first to leave – merely in the interests of salvaging his own dignity.  
   
But he doesn't.  He can't.  Instead, he slides down the wall to sprawl on the concrete floor, his ears still ringing and his heart like a trip hammer inside his chest.   
   
Covering his eyes with one hand, Yanagi wonders how he will ever gain back the ground he's lost today.  And he wonders if it matters, one way or the other.  
   
\+ + +  
   
Nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to back away from what he'd just heard inside the clubhouse, Sanada swallows hard and takes a deep breath, wishing like hell that he'd had the good sense to just let it go.   
   
Yukimura's attitude toward him hadn't seemed right, had bothered him enough that he'd felt it necessary to return, and just as he'd been about to cross the threshold he'd heard Yukimura's voice.  
 _'I was surprised when you didn't touch me again that night.'_  
   
He'd been unable to move after that.  Feeling like the worst sort of pathetic peeping tom, he'd had no choice but to stay and listen to what he'd heard.  The certainty of what was transpiring just inside had taken hold of Sanada's heart and squeezed until he'd barely dared to breathe.   
   
Yanagi.  And Yukimura – whom he'd coveted for so, so long – were involved in some way.  Some way that Sanada had always hoped that he and Yukimura would one day be involved with one another.  He is uncertain, now, as to whether the crushing disappointment he feels is due to the fact that Yukimura is with Yanagi or because he is with anyone other than _Sanada_.   
   
In the end, it doesn't matter.  All that matters is getting away as quickly and as silently as possible so that he can get on with the painful reality of letting go of a secret desire that he knew he'd been stupid to hope for in the first place.   
   
It isn't yet dark outside and Sanada knows that he is not ready to return home and risk being made the source of his older brother's amusement.  With that uncanny ability that siblings have, Sanada knows that his brother will take one look at his face and know that he's suffered a defeat.  And when he sees it, he will pick and prod and poke until Sanada cracks; most probably with a humiliating loss of composure.  His mother, of course, will come to his aid and call a halt, but the damage will have been done.  Sanada's heart will have been exposed.   
   
And so he turns away from the direction he should be traveling in, away from the sidewalk that will lead him home and toward the bus stop where his teammates have gone.  As he walks, he considers the possibility of running into one of them, of what they will say – whether or not they will notice his preoccupation and ask after his well being.  He decides that, even if he were to meet someone, the interaction wouldn't be overly familiar.  The team doesn't talk to him, doesn't seek him out the way they do with Yukimura.  He is the team's disciplinarian and the one who pushes without benefit of a pretty, serene expression and a sharp, dangerous smile.  He harbors no illusions about himself and the way the rest of the team views him.  They respect him, are afraid of his temper, but they are not interested in being his friend.  Sanada doesn't dwell on it overmuch; his relationship with his teammates – or lack thereof – is of his own design.  
   
Feeling sorry for himself is not an option, Sanada knows, because tomorrow will be upon him all too soon and it will be all that he can do to hold it together and feign ignorance for the sake of the team, of his friendship with both Yukimura and Yanagi, of his own peace of mind.  Later, he tells himself, when the sun sets and he's walked off a bit of his unrest, he'll retreat to the dojo and clear his mind the only way he's ever known how.   
   
As he approaches the bus stop, he squints, wondering what Kirihara is doing hanging out alone when he was supposed to have caught the bus with Jackal and Marui.   
   
"Akaya?" he says, tentatively in case he is mistaken.  But then Kirihara glances over and his smile of recognition lets Sanada know that he has it right.   
   
Perched on his backpack on the sidewalk, long legs bent at the knee with his arms wrapped casually around them, Kirihara is both the very picture of boyish innocence and rangy, coltish mischief-maker.   
   
"Senpai.  What are you doing here?  Don't you usually just walk it?"  
   
Sanada shrugs.  "Yes."  He doesn't ask why Kirihara is slumming at the bus stop because he knows if he waits a moment Kirihara will volunteer the information himself.  "I'm not ready to go home yet."  
   
Kirihara nods, as though he understands such a cryptic answer well enough that he doesn't need any elaboration.  "Yep, I know the feeling."   
   
He scratches the side of his head, tousling his curls further, and scowls suddenly.  "Marui-senpai's a dick."  
   
Secretly agreeing, Sanada merely continues to observe Kirihara, waiting for the full story.  He doesn't wait long.  
   
"I thought I had bus fare, but I don't.  And I know he's got plenty of money on him, but he just laughed and said he didn't."  
   
"What about Jackal?" Sanada asks, thinking that it's not like Jackal to leave a kouhai stranded.   
   
Kirihara shrugs.  "He got a phone call half-way here and had to take off.  I don't think he was even going home.  Besides, I didn't know I was broke when he was still here."  He pauses for a moment, laughing to himself and nudging a pebble with the toe of his trainer.  "Fucking asshole Marui-senpai."  
   
Sanada smiles, in spite of his misery, and recalls Kirihara's impromptu visit only a few days ago while Sanada was still ill.  Propped up in bed, Sanada had seen Kirihara from the window – all messy curls and careless gait – toting a big, ceramic bowl with a lid that didn't stay on properly.  He'd appeared completely unaware of the soup spilling over the sides to drip on his shoes, the sidewalk, the ground.  He'd been loud, Sanada could hear him talking from down the hallway, and had laughed that bright, unrestrained laugh when Sanada's mother had told him what a good, thoughtful boy he was.  It had been surprising to know that Kirihara had been thinking of him and Sanada realized that even if the thought had been all due to Kirihara's mother, Kirihara's willingness to carry homemade soup all the way to his house had made him feel good.  Someone had been thinking of him. Someone other than Yukimura or Yanagi.  That Kirihara hadn't stayed long enough to see Sanada hadn't seemed to matter.  The gesture had been enough.  
   
"How will you get home then?" he asked, watching the boy fidget – picking at a thread on his shorts, shuffling his feet, ruffling up his hair.  His restlessness does not stem from some discomfort or nervousness, Sanada knows.  Kirihara simply radiates energy and Sanada has long been aware of the quick, bright excitement that seems to lurk just beneath his surface.   
   
"I dunno.  Maybe I'll just sit out here until I know my family's getting ready to eat dinner and then I'll call them."  He laughs – short, sharp, mischievous – and grins up at Sanada.  "My sister will have to haul her fat ass up and come get me.  That sounds good, huh?  Kinda funny?"  
   
Sanada considers his own family, tries to imagine himself in that same capacity and fails miserably.  His brother would backhand him and if _he_  didn't, his grandfather would.  
   
"Come on," he finally says, offering a hand to Kirihara who takes it with a bright smile and no trace of hesitation.  As he hauls the younger boy to his feet, Sanada wonders why it seems to be so very easy with Kirihara, who has every reason to resent him for his hard-nosed training and unforgiving attitudes, and so difficult with everyone else.  "I'll pay your bus fare.  You should be getting home, Akaya."  
   
Kirihara doesn't let go right away, making a game of shaking Sanada's hand and laughing when Sanada's confusion becomes obvious.  When he does let go, he bends to scoop up his bag, straightening to beam that bright, happy-go-lucky smile directly at Sanada before clapping him on the shoulder.  "How about we grab something to eat first?"  
   
When Sanada hesitates, Kirihara shifts his weight from one foot to the other in restless excitement.   
   
"Come on, Senpai – I don't want to go home yet, either."  
   
Finally, Sanada nods, reddening when Kirihara's smile widens and he grabs Sanada's shirtsleeve to drag him away from the bus stop.   
   
"Awesome!  I know the best place, Sanada-senpai – you won't be sorry."  
   
Sanada follows, if only because he doesn't see that he has much of a choice, and lets Kirihara tug him along.   
   
"Hey, Senpai?" Kirihara says, glancing over his shoulder at Sanada and not paying attention to the sidewalk before him.  "It's okay if you treat today, right?  I mean, just this time since I'm broke."  
   
Before Sanada can agree, Kirihara grins at him again.  "I'll pay next time, promise."  
 

\+ + +

   
They don't talk about it.  The furtive touching and the quick, secret, grabby moments that they manage to steal away from the eyes of everyone else.  One thing remains true, however, and that is the certainty that Yukimura is still keeping score.  Each encounter – every single time they touch – is strictly tit for tat. And each time Yanagi finds pleasure at Yukimura's hands, he retreats a little further into himself.   
   
Yukimura does not kiss him, will not allow Yanagi's kisses.  There are rules, unspoken though they continue to be, and Yanagi's pride will not allow him to ask Yukimura to explain them to him.   
   
That Sanada is aware of the shift in their dynamic is clear to Yanagi. For all his stoicism he is not slow, and the ever-widening rift between them is just one more thing they are not allowed to discuss.   
   
He watches Sanada carefully when he can, noticing his withdrawal from their three-way friendship, the obvious discomfort and disconnection he must be experiencing, and he is surprised to realize that Sanada's withdrawal is not absolute.  While he does not seek out Yanagi or Yukimura as he's always done, he is not alone.  Frequently – _very_  frequently, in fact – Kirihara is there, just one or two steps behind.  Holding tight to the strap of Sanada's bag, chattering away and somehow managing to avoid stepping on the backs of Sanada's shoes.  Waving him over for lunch, not bothering to hide from anyone the fact that he'd been saving Sanada a seat.  Waiting for him after practice, sneaking up behind him to steal Sanada's hat, laughing and dancing just out of reach when Sanada finally grabs after him.   
   
Never one to jump to conclusions, Yanagi doesn't read much into their sudden closeness.  He cannot, however, pretend that it doesn't hurt to realize that he _has_  Yukimura – such as it is – and yet is lonelier now than he's ever been before.   
   
Yukimura maintains just that perfect balance of attention and easy comfort when he interacts with Yanagi in front of the rest of the team, but Yanagi can sense his preoccupation.  If Yukimura would only discuss it with him, acknowledge it, let Yanagi know that he's feeling it too, he is certain that he would be able to relax and take everything in stride.  He tells himself he's certain, even as he tries to ignore the doubt that lingers within him.   
   
He watches Yukimura rally with Kirihara, sees the way Sanada stands so close by as though his stake in their interaction is greater, somehow, than Yanagi's.  Kirihara is buoyant, frenetic – he is never so exciting to watch as when he is facing the one person he admires most in the world.   
   
Fingertips drumming absently against his pocket, where his mobile is hidden, Yanagi contemplates triggering his ringtone, making an excuse and beating it the hell out of there.  He knows, however, that running away won't solve anything and besides, he isn't going to allow Yukimura to run him off.  When one is on the ropes and is beginning to feel the pressure, the very best thing to do is to stay in the game and give just as good as one gets.   He smiles, remembering precisely when, and with whom, he learned such simple strategizing, and finally relents.   
   
His fingers are quick on the keypad, this is not a number he will ever forget, and he waits only a couple of seconds before the line opens.   
   
"Yes, hello."  
   
"Why are you answering?  Aren't you in school?"  
   
There is a sigh – heavy, long-suffering, put-upon – and Inui's voice drops a notch.  "I knew it was you."  
   
Yanagi smiles a little.  "I guess I'm flattered."  
   
"Don't be.  I knew you'd keep calling until I picked up."  
   
"No, I wouldn't."  
   
"Yes, you would."  
   
"No, I wouldn't."  
   
There is a pause and Yanagi can imagine Inui's expression:  flat with false patience and secrecy.  He's probably pushed his glasses up and is standing far enough away from anyone to conceal his conversation.  
   
"You'll have to make this quick.  Someone's waiting for me."  
   
Yanagi frowns, now.  Sometimes Inui's sense of humor was almost as non-existent as Yukimura's.  "Fine, fine.  There is something I'd like to discuss."  
   
Inui is silent, waiting.  Yanagi watches Yukimura, his backhand fluid and flawless.  He makes Yanagi's chest tighten.   
   
"There is someone I care for."  
   
"And?"  
   
"This someone doesn't care for me," Yanagi admits without embarrassment.   
   
"Hm," Inui hums thoughtfully.  Yanagi imagines him adjusting his glasses again.  "You've confessed, I'm assuming?"  
   
"Our interactions are sexual."  
   
"So, you've confessed."  
   
This question makes Yanagi fidget.  "Not exactly," he hedges, gaze shifting to Niou, who is whispering something to Jackal and causing Marui to stomp up and down in impotent anger.   
   
"Yet you're having…relations," Inui says.  "That's a bit backwards, isn't it Renji?  Is this person you care for a slut?"  
   
"Not that I can tell," he responds, Marui's tantrum forgotten as he zeroes in on Yukimura's form. He's always so entrancing when in motion.  "No," he says, with more finality than before.  "No, certainly not."  
   
"So she's a bit more liberal-minded than most girls," Inui adds, helpfully.  
   
"Yes, but she's not a she."  
   
"Oh," is all that Inui says for a moment, processing this bit of information.  "That does change things, I suppose."  
   
Yanagi tilts his head.  "Does it?"  
   
"I don't know really," Inui admits.  "What are you asking me, exactly?"  
   
"I don't know," Yanagi admits.  "I suppose I wanted advice."  
   
This gives Inui pause and he is silent for a moment.  Yanagi is cheered, somewhat, by the knowledge that he has finally left Inui Sadaharu speechless.  When he speaks again, his pleasure at having been consulted in the matters of Yanagi's personal life is unmistakable.   
   
"Advice, of course.  Let's see…my advice, Renji, is to confess.  You can't expect much return without a solid confession to soften this person's heart."  
   
Yanagi watches Yukimura slam the ball across the net, making Kirihara lose his balance and only barely avoid toppling over.  The kid always did have a great recovery.  
   
"I'm not certain that will work, Sadaharu," he says.  "This person is a bit of a challenge."  
   
"Nonsense," Inui says, smug in the way only someone who knows his own relationship is rock solid can be.  "You're already having sex.  How difficult can it be?"  
   
"Trust me on this one," Yanagi murmurs.  "I need an edge, Sadaharu.  An edge that I don't currently have."  
   
"Is he the jealous type?" Inui asks.   
   
Yanagi watches Yukimura laugh, joining Kirihara at the net to ruffle his curls and very nearly rub noses with him.  "No," he says, dryly.   
   
"Romantic?"  
   
Yanagi recalls Yukimura only a few days ago, smearing jizz over Yanagi's belly and walking away without so much as a backward glance.  "No."  
   
"What are his interests?" Inui asks, patience clearly waning.   
   
"Tennis," Yanagi answers.  
   
"Anything else?"  
   
"Roger Federer," Yanagi adds dismally.  
   
"Ah," Inui perks up.  "Then perhaps you can-"  
   
"If you suggest cosplay, I'll tell your mother that you hacked into the school's system to change your grades last year."  
   
There is a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line and Inui says, disbelievingly, "You wouldn't."  
   
"Try me."  
   
"Renji," Inui begins.  "This person sounds quite familiar to me.  I feel that I should warn you against pursuing him, frankly.  After that messy situation with Tezuka, he's trying to walk the straight and narrow again.  He even has a girlfriend and while she's probably not the brightest bulb in the-"  
   
Yanagi interrupts him, his own patience beginning to wear thin.  "Sadaharu, what are you _talking_  about?"  
   
"I'm talking about Echizen.  What are _you_  talking about?"  
   
Yanagi pinches the bridge of his nose.  "I'm talking about Yukimura."  
   
"Oh," Inui says in that familiar, secretive way.  "I see."  
   
"What do you think?" Yanagi asks, determined to maintain some manner of dignity and avoid sounding too hopeful, too pleading.  He's afraid that he didn't quite hit the mark.    
   
"I think you'd be better off slamming your head in a door."  
   
"I'm serious."  
   
"So am I," Inui says.  "There are necessary risks, Renji and there are unnecessary risks."  
   
"I don't see your point," Yanagi tells him, determined not to lose his temper.  "I don't see that I have anything to lose."  
   
"Perhaps that's what you should say to Yukimura, in that case."  
   
Yanagi is silent for a moment.  His head is beginning to ache.  "Thank you, Sadaharu," he says.  
   
"Anytime.  In fact, Renji-"  
   
Yanagi hangs up, pocketing his phone with a thoughtful frown, and glances over when Yagyuu moves in beside him.  
   
"You haven't practiced in three days," he says, slipping his hands into his pockets and appearing completely at ease.  "You're going to become…stiff…Yanagi-kun."  
   
"Merely because I do not practice _here_  does not mean I am not practicing at all, Yagyuu-kun."  
   
Blinking mildly, Yagyuu sweeps his hair aside with two fingers and tips his face skyward.  "It's going to rain."  
   
"It's been raining off and on for days," Yanagi reminds him.  
   
Yagyuu smiles faintly, watching Yukimura as closely as Yanagi always does.  "Indeed.  Your opportunities for additional practices must be few and far between, given the weather and your schedule."  
   
"Yagyuu-kun?" he begins, all politeness when Yagyuu faces him with a similar sort of expression.   
   
"Yes, Yanagi-kun?"  
   
"Go fuck yourself," he says mildly, turning his attention back to Yukimura and Sanada, who are making their way back to the clubhouse.  
   
Inclining his head politely, Yagyuu saunters off, hands still in his pockets, and Yanagi is certain that he is snickering to himself as he goes.  It occurs to him, again, that Niou is not always a positive influence.  Yanagi follows him anyway.  Whether he practiced or not, he still needs to change clothes.  
   
Inside, he finds Yukimura seated on one of the benches.  Sanada stands before him, his broad shoulders tense and square and his head bowed as though he is listening hard for any word Yukimura might offer.  After a moment, he nods, rather pitifully, Yanagi decides, and turns toward the door without a backward glance.  He passes the rest of the team on his way out and it is only before Yanagi that he pauses.  
   
Glancing sideways, not quite meeting Yanagi's eyes, he murmurs, "Yukimura told me."  
   
Yanagi tips his head, wanting to look to Yukimura for some clue as to how to handle this but unwilling to look away lest Sanada walk away from him.   
   
"I hope things work out," he continues.  His voice is strained; Yanagi's stomach clenches.  
   
And then he is gone, quick, purposeful – back ramrod straight.  Niou laughs, that short, rough cackle and drapes his t-shirt over his shoulder.   
   
"Looks like somebody's gonna cry."  To Yukimura he says,"What happened?  You finally boot him off the team?"  
   
Marui snickers, but he is quiet about it.  Jackal frowns and nudges his partner's arm in silent admonition.  Yukimura merely shrugs, crossing his legs to swing one foot idly.  He tugs the sweatband from his hair and lays it on the bench beside him.  "What I say to Sanada is none of your concern, Niou."  
   
Something in the way he speaks, though, leaves Yanagi wondering if his words were intended to reprimand or merely to amuse.  Yagyuu buttons his shirt, ignoring the exchange.  Kirihara is stock still, the lines of his body rigid.  He is pale beneath his tan.  
   
"Always sneaking off to cry by himself," Niou mutters.  "What kind of vice-captain is he, anyway?"  
   
"Shut up," Kirihara says.  His voice is like sandpaper.   
   
Niou looks up, surprised, "What did you say, kid?"  
   
Kirihara drops his t-shirt; he and Niou face off, dressed only in their warm-up pants.   
   
"I said shut up, Niou-senpai."  
   
"And if I don't?" Niou asks, clearly amused by Kirihara's irritation.   
   
"I'll kick your ass," Kirihara tells him easily, though Yanagi is not fooled by his forced composure. Kirihara is furious.  
   
Niou laughs, letting everyone know that he doesn't consider Kirihara any sort of a threat.  "For what?  For saying what everybody else is already thinking?"  
   
"You shouldn't talk about Sanada-senpai when he's not here to defend himself," Kirihara manages.  His voice is rough, choked; Yanagi wonders if it's _Kirihara_  who might cry and not Sanada at all.  "Only cowards do that, Niou-senpai."  
   
Eyes narrowing, Niou leans in, practically sneering.  "I'm a coward, huh?  Well, Akaya-chan, what if I said you've got your panties in a bunch because you've got a little thing for Sanada, hm?  What then?"  
   
Kirihara is silent and Yanagi can feel the anger rolling off him in waves.  He is certain that Niou can feel it, too, and simply doesn't care.  
   
"I gotta hand it to you, though, kid.  From Yanagi to Sanada, you sure like to keep it top-level."  
   
Kirihara clenches his fists and Yanagi wonders if he should step in.  Across the room, Yukimura sits serene and unruffled, watching the drama unfold before him.   
   
"Maybe you're working your way to the top, though, huh, chibi?  Aiming high and learning who to use as a stepping stone."  
   
What happens next is almost a blur to Yanagi.  In an instant – and with no real warning at all – Kirihara jumps the bench to slam Niou back against the cubbies harder than Yanagi would have ever thought him capable.  Kirihara draws back his fist, clipping Niou's cheekbone just as Jackal wraps both arms tight to pull him back.  Just as quickly, Yagyuu grabs hold of Niou and turns, shielding his partner with his body as much as seeking to curtail the fight.   
   
Kirihara swings at air, red-faced and red-eyed and completely out of control.   
   
"Akaya!" Jackal says sharply, squeezing him tight and swinging him around and away from Niou.  "Stop it!"  
   
Nearby, Marui stands, slack-jawed.  For once, he has nothing snide or witty to say and Yanagi doesn’t mind admitting that he knows the feeling.  
   
When he releases Kirihara, the younger boy falls back against the wall, chest rising and falling with every breath he takes.  He spares Yanagi the smallest of guarded glances when he turns, but only just. He buttons his shirt on his way out, offering no apologies in his haste to get away from the rest of the team.  Yagyuu and Niou follow soon after, walking close and speaking to no one. Yanagi knows that practice tomorrow will be awkward, at the very least.  He wonders how Yukimura will handle it, wonders if he will even bother to address it at all.  Jackal nods once to Yanagi when he makes his exit, Marui close behind. They don’t speak.  Not to him, not to Yukimura, and when everyone else has gone, Yanagi finally finds his voice.  
   
"Why did you sit there and let that happen?" he demands.  
   
Yukimura merely shrugs, as he'd done earlier with Niou.  "I didn't see it coming."  
   
Staring at Yukimura, Yanagi shakes his head.  The space between them seems insurmountable and Yanagi wonders when it will ever be too much for him to want to deal with anymore.   
   
"I told Sanada," Yukimura continues.  "About us."  
   
"Here?" Yanagi asks, disbelieving.  "You told him here?  With everybody else around?  God, Seichii, what is _wrong_  with you?"  
   
Having the decency to look chastised for once, Yukimura averts his eyes, pushing away from the bench to stand before the window.  Outside, a few leaves skitter along the ground and the forceful, angry admonition he wants to offer simply will not come.  Already, he knows that it's because there are other things he wants to say, questions he wants to ask, that have nothing to do with Sanada's emotional well-being and everything to do with his own and he is ashamed.   
   
"Seichii," he finally says, the tender feelings he tries so hard to ignore rising up to eclipse any censure he intends.   
   
Yukimura doesn't look at him, simply continues to stare out of the window, and Yanagi falls silent as he approaches.  Surprisingly, Yukimura allows his touch, does not seek to evade him as he sometimes does when he feels the need to gain the upper hand, and when Yanagi slips his arms around Yukimura's waist, it is habit alone that makes him slide his hands beneath his shirt to touch his belly.  
   
Sighing, as though letting go of the tension that holds him so tightly wound together, Yukimura presses one hand to the window and closes his eyes when Yanagi's hands frame his ribs.   
   
"He asked," Yukimura finally says, voice much softer than before.  "If everything was okay between you and me."  
   
"When?"  
   
"Earlier today," Yukimura tells him.  "I didn't know how to answer him, then.  So when he came to me after practice, I just…said it."  
   
Tightening his arms around Yukimura, resting his head against the back of Yukimura's neck, Yanagi realizes that he has never – in all of his life – stood in the face of such overwhelming, tempestuous emotion.  He wants to hold Yukimura and protect him and make him suffer and bring him happiness and suddenly he is _just so tired_.  
   
"What did you tell him?" He has to ask. He has to know.   
   
Yukimura's voice is small and Yanagi knows that he is not keeping up appearances.  Not now.   
   
"I told him that you liked me.  I told him we were having sex."  
   
The words twist, turn, jumble together in Yanagi's mind.  They are not what he'd anticipated hearing, but then, he couldn't have said what he'd anticipated hearing if he'd been asked.   
   
There is nothing he can say to make things easy between them and he will not beg for Yukimura's affection, no matter that it is the one thing that he covets more than anything else in his life.  Instead, he presses a kiss to Yukimura's neck and pretends that he is kissing his mouth.  He touches Yukimura's chest with light, careful fingers and tells himself that his heart is so close – he can splay his hand just over it.  And still it's not close enough.  Even as he is, embracing Yukimura and feeling his heartbeat, it's not quite close enough.  
   
Yukimura shivers and tilts his head in silent acquiescence, laying one hand over Yanagi's to guide it toward the waistband of his pants.  There is no hesitation in Yanagi's movements and his lack of reluctance is proof enough of just how desperate for Yukimura's affection he has become.   
   
There are no words between them when Yanagi slips his hand into Yukimura's pants to curl his fingers around him.  He's half-hard and pushing forward in encouragement and the soft, breathy sound he makes when Yanagi touches him in just the right way breaks down the fragile barrier between them.   
   
As hard as Yukimura makes Yanagi work for even the smallest capitulation, the way he relaxes under Yanagi's hands makes it all seem worthwhile – even when, only moments before, Yanagi had wondered how much more he could take.  
   
"Seichii," he murmurs, nosing into Yukimura's hair and kissing the soft, sweet place just behind his ear.  He doesn't know what he wants to say, really, but the desire to say it is there all the same.   
   
Yukimura turns, facing him, stealing away his ability to speak when he fixes Yanagi with that serious, somber gaze.  Lips parted, Yanagi thinks that maybe he'll say something after all.  Something important, something big that Yukimura cannot ignore.  
   
But then Yukimura lays one hand on Yanagi's shoulder and the pressure he exerts is request enough.  Words forgotten, Yanagi goes down before him, though he doesn't move to do Yukimura's bidding right away.  Instead, he rests both hands on Yukimura's hips, leaning his head against his belly to hold him, to embrace him.   
   
 _' I told him that you liked me.  I told him we were having sex.'_  
   
What about you? Yanagi wants to ask. While I'm on my knees and half in love with you.  What do you feel for me, Seichii?  
   
Yukimura's long, graceful fingers brush his forehead, slide through his hair and it's the closest thing to a caress that Yanagi has ever experienced.  Before he can stop to think about what he's preparing to do, he is kissing Yukimura's belly, rubbing his face against his soft skin, his hip, easing his pants and shorts down and nosing into the tight, dark curls at the base of Yukimura's cock.   
   
His heart is pounding, his hands are shaking – he's never done this before – and when he looks up at Yukimura, the expression he finds there obliterates whatever rational thought he might still possess.   
   
Eyes half-closed, lips parted, cheeks flushed with arousal, Yukimura gazes down at him with the sort of emotion in his eyes that Yanagi has begun to suspect might never cross his lips.  His heart swells and he closes his eyes, nuzzling and rubbing until he closes his lips around Yukimura's dick to offer him the only sort of regard Yukimura seems willing to accept.  
   
This time, Yukimura cannot stifle the small, urgent sounds he makes or hide the way his breath hitches when Yanagi sucks him harder, slower.  This time, Yukimura tangles his fingers in Yanagi's hair, tugging and grabbing and arching his back.  This time, Yanagi's name is on his lips when he comes.  
   
It's a pleasure they've never experienced before, and afterward, when Yanagi sits before Yukimura, his forehead resting against Yukimura's thigh, Yukimura doesn't stop touching him.  He pets him awkwardly, fingers soft in his hair, now, while his breathing slows.  Yanagi licks his lips, eyes still closed - he feels as though he barely has the strength to stand even though he's not the one recovering from a mind-shattering orgasm.  
   
Later, they walk home together, shoulder to shoulder, sharing a silence that carries none of the conflict of the ones they've shared before.   
   
They are, neither of them, able to articulate in precisely what manner things have changed between them.  But they are aware, nonetheless.  
   
 

\+ + +

   
   
Sanada has barely put away his school things and stripped out of his clothes when he hears someone banging at his front door.  He hopes his mother gets it; he's not in the mood to greet anyone, at the moment.   
   
"Sanada-senpai!" Kirihara calls out, knocking harder now.  "I know you're home!"  
Slipping into his bathrobe, Sanada belts it quickly and moves to the window to peer between the blinds.  Kirihara is there – on Sanada's front step – yelling his fool head off.  He sighs, smoothing his hair down and turning toward his bedroom door.  He'll have to see Kirihara; there's no avoiding it.  
   
From the hallway, he hears his mother open the door and greet Kirihara hesitantly.  He wonders if she still thinks his kouhai is a good, thoughtful boy.  
   
"Kirihara-kun!" she says, opening the door in welcome.  "Is something wrong?  Why are you out here yelling like that?"  
   
"I'm sorry, Sanada-san," he says, and Sanada knows that he means it.  "I need to see Sanada-senpai – is he here?"  
   
"Yes, of course.  He just got home not long ago – did something happen at practice?"  
   
He can see Kirihara just beyond the threshold; he looks angry, confused, desperate.  "I-" he begins, faltering.  "I just need to speak to Sanada-senpai.  Please."  
   
His mother steps back to allow Kirihara inside and Sanada turns back.  He closes his bedroom door just a few seconds before Kirihara's tentative knock comes.   
   
"Sanada-senpai," he says.  "It's me, Akaya.  Can I come in?"  
   
His mother is nowhere to be seen when Sanada opens the door.  The hallway is empty and dark; Kirihara is tense before him.  Though they've spent more time together in the past couple of weeks than they have in the four years that Sanada has known Kirihara, this off-court camaraderie is still too new, too unfamiliar, for Sanada to speak as easily as he wishes that he could.  It is only with Yanagi and Yukimura that he feels so at ease; confident enough to be himself without fear of recrimination.   
   
With Kirihara, it is different.  With Kirihara, he realizes that he is afraid, in some way.  He's afraid that their tentative friendship might dissolve, somehow, without it ever having been given the opportunity to become anything at all.   
   
"Why did you leave early?" he demands, ducking inside and turning to face Sanada, who closes the door softly to stand before it.  Arms crossed, expression neutral, Sanada merely gazes at Kirihara.  With every moment that passes, he grows more agitated. Sanada can _feel_  his agitation.  
   
"And why are all the lights off, Sanada-senpai?  Why are you sitting in the dark?"  
   
Sanada shrugs, tightening the belt of his robe.  "I'm not.  I haven't been home that long."  
   
Flopping down on Sanada's futon, Kirihara drops his bag on the floor and sighs.  "I wish you'd stayed," he says, mournfully.  "If you'd stayed, I wouldn't have…"  
   
He trails off, sighing again and running a hand through messy, tangled curls.  When he looks up again, his eyes are bright, intense, and Sanada is reminded of precisely why Kirihara is so crucial to the team's success.  He's their fire – he charges where the others might hang back to plot.  He speaks before thinking, he's completely without tact, he grabs life with both hands and squeezes all that he can get from it.  And he always comes out on top – even when he loses.  
   
"Did something happen?" Sanada asks.  He is unwilling to offer excuses for his abrupt departure, but he knows that there would have been no way for him to stay and still pretend as though everything were all right.  Yukimura's casual assertion that he and Yanagi were involved had come as the worst sort of surprise to Sanada.  They were friends – they shared the same dream, the same path, the same fears and desires.  It is only now, standing in the darkness of his room with a kouhai that he'd never imagined he'd come to admire so much, that he realizes precisely how much he and Yanagi had truly shared.  He had no way of knowing – nor did he think he truly wanted to know – precisely how long he and Yanagi had shared a secret desire for Yukimura Seichii.   
   
Kirihara shrugs and Sanada moves closer, and closer still, until he lowers himself on the very edge of his futon – only a couple of feet away from Kirihara.   
   
"I hit Niou-senpai," Kirihara tells him, hunching his shoulders as though preparing for Sanada's reprimand.  "I don't know what happened, but one minute we were standing there and the next minute he was running his mouth – doing his damnedest to push my buttons – and the next thing I knew I was on him and all I wanted to do was make him shut his mouth.  Just…just shut his _fucking mouth_."  
   
Sanada doesn't bat an eyelash, though Kirihara's retelling of the events of the afternoon is unexpected.   
   
"Was he trying to pick a fight?  What was he talking about that made you so angry?"  
   
Curling his toes, Sanada wonders how long it will take to steer Kirihara into level territory again. He is tired, his feet are achy and cold, and he wants a hot bath in the very worst way.   
   
Kirihara fidgets, big feet restless on Sanada's floor.  One of his shoelaces is untied and it is stained gray with water and dirt.  "You, senpai," he finally says, the tone of his voice hinting at his sudden bashfulness and reluctance to tell the truth.  "He was making fun of you and you weren't there to make him shut up yourself.  Everyone was standing around but no one said anything – not even Buchou – and I just got so mad that I couldn't half see straight."  
   
Blinking in surprise, Sanada is silent as he listens to Kirihara – watches every move he makes.  He is more than Sanada has ever given him credit for, he realizes.  More in a way that has nothing to do with tennis at all.   
   
"So you hit him?  For that?"   
   
Scowling, Kirihara glares at Sanada.  "You've knocked the hell out of me for a whole lot less, senpai.  So don't go getting up on your high horse, okay?"  
   
Frowning, Sanada realizes that with understanding and friendship comes a lack of respect and an easy way of speaking that he is not sure he wants to condone.  But he rationalizes that this isn't just any kouhai – this is Kirihara.  The one who's worried over him and visited him and taught him to play video games that Sanada had never thought to enjoy.  The one who seemed to truly enjoy his company without regard for what the others would say about his sucking up to the vice-captain just to get out of extra laps or a gruff reprimand.  The one who hit a teammate – an _older_ teammate, at that – merely to defend Sanada's character.  This was his ace, his pride, his biggest headache – this was his _Akaya_.  It felt strange to him to realize that he considered the younger boy a friend.  The way he considered Yanagi and Yukimura before they'd left him behind to forge their own way together.   
   
He knows that, later, he will have to punish Kirihara for daring to strike his senpai.  He knows that he will have to make an example of him.  But it won't change the way he feels about him; he is confident that it won't change their friendship.   
   
"Thank you," he says, simply.  No one had ever risen to his defense before and that Kirihara had done so without considering the consequences makes all the difference to Sanada.  All the difference in the world.   
   
His words appear to offer Kirihara no real relief, however.  Obviously conflicted, the boy sits nearby with his fists clenched atop his knees.  His back is straight and stiff and his expression is a study in confusion and upset.  "Why are you thanking me?" he asks.  "Aren't you gonna yell at me?"  
   
In spite of himself, Sanada smiles.  Kirihara knows him too well.  "Yes, later, I imagine," he admits.  "But I appreciate your standing up for me when I wasn't there to do it myself."  
   
"I don't understand," Kirihara murmurs.  "I was so mad at him, senpai."  Looking up, almost shy, he adds, "He said I liked you.  You know, _that_  way.  The way you like Yukimura-Buchou and Yanagi-senpai likes Yukimura-Buchou."  
   
He is matter-of-fact when he says it and if he notices Sanada's deep, hot blush, he doesn't let on.  Sanada feels stupid for underestimating Kirihara, feels stupid for wearing his heart on his sleeve when he'd thought he'd been so circumspect.   
   
"Marui says those things sometimes – that I like Yanagi-senpai and that I'm just some dumb kid who'll never be important enough to get anyone's attention – but it was different when Niou-senpai said it.  He said it like he looked right inside me and knew what I was thinking."  His voice drops a notch.  "Even when I didn't know it myself."  
   
They are silent for long moments and Sanada exhales slowly when he realizes that he is holding his breath.  While he would swear that Kirihara's hastily spoken words were a confession, of sorts, he is reluctant to respond in such a way that will necessitate any real action on his part.   
   
Because he doesn't like Kirihara that way – it's Yukimura he is always thinking of.  Even as he tells himself that, though he realizes that his thoughts of Yukimura have seemed to decrease as of late.  He's been too busy really.  Busy training with Kirihara, meeting Kirihara for lunch, tutoring Kirihara in History, making small talk with Kirihara while he trained in the dojo.   
   
And – just like that – it is clear to Sanada.  Kirihara likes him, wants to be around him, makes him feel good about himself, and he feels similarly towards Kirihara.  When did it happen, he wonders, that Kirihara's presence so completely filled the void in his life – that place that he'd have been willing to swear had been a vacancy for Yukimura alone.   
   
"Akaya," he says, voice soft.  No other words seem forthcoming, but when Kirihara swings that hot, intense gaze his way, Sanada doesn't think that words are what he wants at all.  Still and all, he has to say _something_  if he intends to make himself understood.  "I don't think I like Yukimura the way Yanagi likes Yukimura."  
   
Kirihara's voice is soft, shy – the way Sanada has never heard him sound before.  "Since when?" he asks, his own sense of self-preservation far too strong to allow his hesitation to be so easily swept away.   
   
"Since _now_ , I think," he says honestly, surprised to realize that what he says is true.  He doesn't say that he's unused to considering these kinds of things, since Kirihara knows that much about him, already.   
   
Later, Sanada will remember the exact moment that it occurred to Kirihara that he was on Sanada's futon, in the dark, with Sanada in an almost embarrassing state of undress nearby.  
   
"Senpai," Kirihara says, shifting closer.  His eyes are wide and Sanada can see the outline of his jaw and throat in the early moonlight that filters through his window.  He sees him swallow, can hear his rapid, shallow breathing.  Kirihara is nervous with this risk he prepares to take.  Nervous and _excited_  and it is only now that Sanada becomes so keenly aware of his lack of clothing.   
   
"Senpai, I know you probably like girls and I don't want to make you angry, but..."  
   
Sanada has not moved an inch and his legs are so tense that his muscles are rigid, but he can't seem to move – to get some well-needed space between himself and Kirihara.   
   
"But?" he prompts, still not sure he should be encouraging this sort of confidence.   
   
"But if you can like Yukimura-Buchou, maybe you could," and here he pauses, shifting closer still and clenching a handful of Sanada's bed sheets.  "like me, too."  
   
With no idea as to how he should answer – whatever he says will have significant bearing on their friendship, going forward – Sanada finds that no reassurance he can offer rings true.  Because, really, he doesn't need to say a word.  Not when Kirihara is easing up beside him to lay one hand on his shoulder; his silence is consent enough.  
   
"Senpai," Kirihara whispers, closing his eyes when he lands that first, awkward kiss at the corner of Sanada's mouth.  Sanada stiffens, no matter that he'd anticipated Kirihara's kiss from the moment he began easing his way across the futon.   
   
Sanada turns his head, just a bit, inhaling sharply when Kirihara lays a hand on his bare thigh.  The palm of his hand is hot, his fingers strong, and when he tips his head to kiss Sanada again, that careful balance of power shifts and Sanada allows himself to be swept along with it.   
   
Kirihara turns, rising on the bed to get one leg over Sanada's.  His breath is warm against Sanada's mouth and while it’s quite obvious that this is Kirihara's first foray into sexual exploration, Sanada can find no fault in his tentative kisses and touches.  It's _his_  first foray, as well.  
   
"Let me kiss you more," Kirihara whispers.  His lips are wet and he is straddling Sanada's thigh, one knee pressed a little too tightly between Sanada's legs for comfort.  He knows what Kirihara wants, though, and when he imitates Kirihara's kiss, he tastes his mouth, his tongue.  Sanada groans quietly and Kirihara answers with a soft, happy sound of his own.   
   
He lifts one hand to rest at Kirihara's hip and when he tilts his head a bit more, Kirihara slides one hand into the back of Sanada's hair and pushes his tongue between Sanada's lips.  
   
Kirihara moans then, deep and muffled against Sanada's mouth, and when his hand slips, fingers pressing into Sanada's inner thigh, Sanada stiffens.  Kirihara has begun to move against him, hovering and fidgeting and looking for a good place to plant his bottom and when Sanada lets his fingers dip into the gap at the back of Kirihara's jeans, Kirihara presses his knee forward.  
   
"Senpai," he murmurs, voice shaking.  "You can do it, I don't mind."  
   
Eyes closed tight, Sanada shivers when Kirihara licks and sucks at his earlobe – he's all tongue and teeth and untried urgency – though he has no idea what Kirihara has given him permission to do.  It is, after all, Kirihara's knee that is pressing so snugly against Sanada's dick and not the other way around.  
   
"You're hard, Sanada-senpai," he continues, his hand easing up along Sanada's thigh, beneath his robe.  "I am, too," he admits, chewing on Sanada's earlobe before pressing wet lips to Sanada's cheek in search of more kisses.  
   
He doesn't untie Sanada's bathrobe, but then, he doesn't need to and Sanada knows that he shouldn't have expected a request for permission when Kirihara grips his cock eagerly.   
   
"God," he breathes.  "You're _big_ , Senpai.  Does it feel good?"  
   
He sounds worried, as though he can't tell that Sanada's legs are trembling and the tip of his cock streaks wet against the palm of Kirihara's hand.  He hooks one arm around Sanada's neck and kisses him hard, nipping his lip and biting his tongue when he begins to stroke him in earnest.   
   
It's almost instantaneous – Sanada's orgasm.  Entirely taking him over, it is upon him completely without warning and when he muffles his surprise and his pleasure in the hot press of Kirihara's mouth, he holds the boy tight against him.  Clinging, anchoring, wanting.   
   
It's embarrassing for him, to come so quickly when Kirihara had barely begun to touch him, but it's easy to put his shame aside when Kirihara settles full in his lap.  Facing him, he grips the back of Sanada's neck while he gets his own pants open.   
   
"It's okay," he whispers, sensing Sanada's embarrassment and kissing him, slippery and messy.  "Don't worry about it, Sanada-senpai.  We can do it again, just -" he whimpers, taking Sanada's hand to press it to his groin.  His hand is wet and sticky with Sanada's release where he hadn't bothered to wipe it off.  "Just touch me, too."  
   
And Sanada does, taking Kirihara in hand the way he'd done for himself on so many occasions except – this time – Yukimura does not invade his mind, his senses.  When he strokes Kirihara's cock, presses his mouth to Kirihara's shoulder, it is only of Kirihara that he is thinking.  
   
He moves quick, thrusting against the palm of Sanada's hand, and he rests his head on Sanada's shoulder, making the sweetest, most desperate little noises that Sanada has ever heard.  They increase both in volume and pitch the closer he gets and when he gasps, arms tight around Sanada's shoulders, he presses his face to the curve of Sanada's neck and comes all over Sanada's hand and wrist.   
   
Several moments pass before either of them make any move to separate and, even then, it's only Kirihara that shifts, touching Sanada's neck gingerly.  
   
"I didn't mean to bite you, Sanada-senpai.  Honest."  
   
Sanada smiles, though Kirihara cannot see it, and touches his lower back tentatively.  He's smooth and warm and still feels so good in Sanada's arms.  
   
"I know," he reassures him, muscles weak when he shifts beneath Kirihara.  Reaching up, he winds one wayward curl around his index finger the way he's wanted to do for days.  Yukimura and Yanagi are the furthest things from his mind.  
   
"It's all right, Akaya."  
 

\+ + +

   
   
Yanagi spends the next few days feeling as though he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.  He's shared no cross words with Yukimura since the day Kirihara punched Niou in the clubhouse, but that particular blade is a double-edged sword as he has not touched Yukimura either.  Sometimes he feels as though things have gone back to the way they were, before, but he knows that's not entirely true.  He still catches Yukimura looking at him with that familiar guarded look in his eyes even as he's certain that he looks at Yukimura the same way.  They are at an impasse and while it is something that they are both very much aware of, Yukimura seems as unwilling as Yanagi to make the next move.   
   
Sanada, however, is another story.  Whatever pain he'd experienced in the face of Yukimura's offhand revelation seems never to have existed at all.  It's business as usual for the three of them, even as Kirihara seems happy enough to become the fourth in their circle of friendship.  Sanada wasn't volunteering any information and so Yanagi didn't ask.  He doesn't need to, really, when he sees Sanada walk past him in the hallway with Kirihara leaning over his shoulder, looking at the magazine Sanada holds even as Kirihara steers them along, keeping them from running into other people.  
   
He thinks about them on his way to Yukimura's house that afternoon. Earlier, during lunch, Kirihara had taken a much more substantial lunch than any of them were used to seeing him eat and when Marui's eyes had widened, sparkling with interest, Kirihara had frowned at him and scooted his bento closer to himself.   
   
"Don't get any ideas," he'd warned.   
   
Marui had merely frowned, stealing Jackal's lemon bar instead.  "Greedy," he'd said, not noticing Jackal's happy little smile when he'd halved the bar and offered him a piece.  
   
To Yanagi's surprise, Kirihara had not risen to the bait, had not offered a rebuttal or bickered with Marui.  He'd simply continued to nose around his lunch until Sanada had come along to sit beside him.  Offering a meat bun to him, Kirihara had smiled and Sanada had tugged his hat down marginally, but had taken it nonetheless.   
   
He'd realized, watching them, that so much of what made them compatible was their silent, easy understanding. Yanagi was quite familiar with it since it had been a factor in his relationship with both Yukimura and Sanada.  And, he supposed, Kirihara had learned something of it, also, because he'd never seen Sanada looking so relaxed and content.  Not while he wasn't dominating someone on the court, in any event.  
   
Yukimura's house, situated at the corner of the street, is dainty and pretty with an immaculate lawn and bright, full flower gardens.  That Yukimura is not outside surveying his domain means that he is already inside, gearing up for the planning session he'd insisted Sanada and Yanagi join him in preparing.   
   
In two weeks, they will begin their own training in preparation for the coming season and while it is a certainty that Yukimura will push harder than he ever has before, Yanagi is comforted by the knowledge that both he and Sanada will be there to help balance him out.   
   
Yukimura's mother ushers Yanagi in, telling him that Yukimura and Sanada are in Yukimura's room.  Yanagi nods his thanks, struck again by just how much Yukimura resembles his mother.   
   
He knocks once and pushes the door open.  Sanada is seated at Yukimura's desk, notebook open before him, pen poised, and he looks up to nod hello to Yanagi.  Yukimura is on the floor, before the television, aiming the remote at the DVD player.  He doesn't look up.   
   
"Sit down," he tells Yanagi, scooting over to make room, and when Yanagi takes his place beside him Yukimura hands him a notebook and a pencil.  "Make notes."  
   
Taking the notebook and pencil, Yanagi arches a brow at Yukimura.  "Genichirou is already taking notes," he points out.  
   
Yukimura snorts, scowling when his timing is off and he has to rewind a bit.  "Genichirou is working on something else right now."  
   
"Is that so?" Yanagi asks lightly.  "Checking over Akaya's homework, Gen-chan?"  
   
"Yes."  
   
Yanagi looks over his shoulder quickly and Sanada almost smiles.  "What have you done with the real Sanada Genichirou?" he demands and before Sanada can respond, Yukimura nudges his leg.   
   
"Pay attention.  I want you to see this, Renji."  
   
Turning back toward the television, Yanagi sits obediently, watching the match Yukimura seems so engrossed in.   
   
"I'm going to show you where we went wrong in that last game we played with Hyoutei."  
   
While Yukimura is busy rewinding and fast-forwarding in an attempt to slow down the frames in just the right place, Yanagi peers at the numbers at the top of the screen.  "You had our matches compiled on DVD?"  
"Of course I did," Yukimura says, as though it were common practice.  "Those VHS tapes have no shelf life and I intend that these matches will be available for future players to learn from."  
   
When Yanagi doesn't respond, Yukimura looks up sharply.  "What's wrong with that?"  
   
"I think it's a good idea," Sanada speaks up.  "There are some excellent examples in this volume alone."  
   
"And Akaya will need them next year, right, Genichirou?" Yukimura says, his smile genuine.   
   
Sanada smiles, too, but he ducks his head to hide it.  "Yes."  
   
Yanagi looks to Yukimura.  "You've already decided, then?  Who will succeed you next year?"  
   
Yukimura nods once, attention effectively garnered by the television again, and Yanagi falls silent, just watching.  He's not surprised, indeed, he's pleased with Yukimura's choice.  Kirihara deserves the captaincy and possess the skill and experience to do the job better than anyone else Yukimura might have chosen.   
   
"When will you tell him?" he eventually asks.   
   
Yukimura snickers, taking the notebook from Yanagi and writing down the sequence of numbers displayed at the top corner of the screen.  "Oh, maybe I'll let Genichirou tell him.  He might get a blowjob out of it, eh, Gen-chan?"  
   
Sanada blushes, straightening in his chair.  "Enough," he says simply, tugging the bill of his cap, but Yukimura only smiles.  
   
"Don't be shy, Genichirou," he says, cajoling.  "We're all friends here and besides, Renji knows all about it."   
   
Glancing sideways at Yanagi, teasing, knowing, his eyes hard, he continues, "Don't you, Renji?"  
   
Yanagi can only look at Yukimura, incredulous.  "What?" he asks, nearly unable to believe what he is hearing.  It occurs to him that nothing is sacred with Yukimura – nothing that doesn't involve tennis and victory and total domination – and it is only in this moment that he realizes his heart is not safe with Yukimura.  Their relationship is based solely on competition through a disguised sort of support and Yanagi knows it as surely as he knows that he no longer wants to be a part of it.   
   
He stands, then, feeling as though he is moving within a dream and unable to think twice about what he is walking away from.  He glances once at Sanada, whose expression is as somber as it always is.  When he looks at Yukimura, though, it's as though he's seeing him for the very first time and, in this moment, Yanagi hates him as much as he knows that he loves him.   
   
He should say something, he knows.  Something to even the score or to let Yukimura know what he's brought upon himself, but he doesn't.  He doesn't know what to say and he's not convinced that Yukimura would be at all swayed, even if he _did_.  
   
Never has he experienced such finality as when he closes Yukimura's door behind him and sets off toward home.  He won't go back – not even for the sake of the team.  Yanagi's first loyalty is to himself and if he's going to be true to himself, he knows he has to leave Yukimura behind.   
   
And that's exactly what he does.  
 

\+ + +

   
   
They are silent for long moments.  Sanada wonders if Yukimura regrets his words, his actions.  He wonders if Yukimura even knows what regret is.   
   
"I don't understand," is all that he says when he finally speaks and there is nothing in the tone of his voice to indicate that he meant any ill will toward Yanagi at all.  He looks up at Sanada and his expression is the closest to beseeching that Sanada has ever seen. He is reminded of a time long ago – a time Sanada only wishes he could forget – when Yukimura stared up at him from a narrow hospital bed, his eyes so big and haunted that he seemed nothing more than a shadow of himself.   
   
Sanada knows that he will never stop caring about Yukimura, never stop wanting him to find himself.  To take whatever happiness life offers before it's too late to make the choices that should be his to make.  He is afraid that Yukimura will grow old alone and die that way and there will be nothing that he can do to help him.  That's what love is about, when all is said and done.  He wishes that Yukimura could understand.  
   
Sanada smiles faintly, though there is no happiness in it.  "You always know just where to strike, Seiichi.  To make it hurt the most."  
   
Yukimura's eyes are wide, dark with confusion, and Sanada cannot help the twinge of sympathy he feels.   
   
"I didn't mean to-" Yukimura begins, but with Sanada's gaze so serious and unflinching, he seems unable to say the words.  Because he _did_  mean to and both he and Sanada know it.   
   
Looking away, toward the window, Yukimura makes no move to cover his face, to rub his temples or to comb fingers through his hair the way most people do when they are frustrated.  Yukimura is not frustrated; he is simply _lost_.  
   
"I don't get it, Seiichi," Sanada says, closing the notebook and handing it back to him.  He's completed the practice schedule for the next two weeks and he knows that Yukimura will find no fault with it.  How can he, when Sanada can so effectively guess his every intention?  "Why do you have to push so hard?"  
   
When Yukimura doesn't answer, Sanada moves to sit before him until they are opposite one another.  Face to face and knees touching.   
   
"Just because someone isn't constantly telling you how important you are doesn't mean they're not thinking it."  
   
Yukimura frowns.  "I don't want to hear anything like that.  It's pointless, isn't it?"  
   
"Is it?" Sanada asks.  "The people who care about you don't think so."  
   
"Do you really like Akaya, Genichirou?" he asks, able to look Sanada in the face when the conversation is not about _him_.  
   
"Stop," Sanada admonishes gently.  "It's okay to want things, Seiichi.  But it's not okay to step all over another person's feelings just because you can."  
   
"What feelings?" Yukimura scoffs, though he doesn't look at Sanada when he says it.  Instead, he busies himself by plucking at strands of fiber in the carpet and pretending that nothing Sanada says applies to him.   
   
"Don't push him away," Sanada says, touching the back of Yukimura's hand to still his fidgeting.  "He's important to us – he's our friend."  
   
Bowing his head, Yukimura remains silent and so Sanada asks the only question that really matters in the hopes that Yukimura will allow himself one moment of real honesty.  
   
"Do you want to lose him?"   
   
He doesn't clarify as to whether he is talking about losing Yanagi's tennis or losing his heart.  That is a conclusion that Yukimura needs to draw on his own; Sanada has faith in him.  
   
Finally, Yukimura shakes his head, dark strands of wavy hair brushing his cheeks and Sanada grips his shoulder in silent provision.  
   
"It's still early, you know.  We have six or seven DVDs to get through tonight."  
   
Head still bowed, Yukimura laughs.  "You don't want to watch them."  
   
Sanada doesn't, but if Yukimura does, then he will.  He is more interested in being with his friends and working on the one thing that brought them all together in the first place.  "Yes, I do.  Renji does, too, I'll bet."  
   
Yukimura raises his head, eyes bright.  "You think so?"  
   
Nodding once, Sanada sits back on his heels.  "If you hurry, we can eat here while we go over the matches."  
   
Appearing to consider Sanada's proposition, Yukimura finally nods and gets slowly to his feet.  "All right," he says.  "Call Akaya, invite him over."  
   
At Sanada's look of surprise, Yukimura grins.  "I was serious about letting you give him the good news."  
   
And then he is gone, leaving Sanada alone in his room to wait, as he has become so used to waiting where Yukimura is concerned.  This time, though, he can't seem to wipe the smile off his face.  It feels good.   _Very_  good.  
   
 

\+ + +

   
   
Yanagi still has his shoes on when he hears someone at the front door.  Barely ten minutes he's been home and all that he's managed to accomplish is a bit of door slamming and self-pity.  The whole way home he'd debated turning around and going back to have it out once and for all with Yukimura.  But Yanagi is tired of spinning his wheels and for all that he feels that he is an incredibly multi-faceted individual, there is no masochistic streak in him.  He frowns, however, as he tries to convince himself, knowing that he's lying.  If he weren't something of a masochist, he'd never have given his heart to Yukimura Seiichi in the first place.   
   
He opens the door, expecting to see Sanada or even Kirihara or perhaps the mail carrier and feels as though all the blood in his body has turned to water when it is Yukimura he finds standing so placidly on his doorstep.  
   
"Seiichi," he says, somewhat at a loss for words.  
   
"Can I come in?" Yukimura asks, hands linked behind his back, his expression serene.   
Yanagi hesitates, wondering if perhaps the knife in his back hadn't been enough for Yukimura.  Perhaps now he'd like to stab Yanagi in the heart.  
   
"Of course," is what he says, however, stepping back to allow Yukimura inside.  "Why are you here, Seiichi?  I really don't see how we have anything more to say-"  
   
Pushing him back against the wall, holding him there with both hands framing Yanagi's face, Yukimura effectively derails his train of thought, silencing him mid-sentence and pressing so close to him.  All that he can do is stare, shocked into silence, stillness, when Yukimura closes his eyes and presses first one - and then two and then three – soft kisses to his mouth.   
   
"I'm sorry," he murmurs between kisses, wrapping both arms tight around Yanagi's neck when Yanagi finally moves to put his arms around Yukimura, too.  
   
"I am.  I'm sorry, Renji."  
   
Yanagi doesn't ask what it is that he's apologizing for; he doesn't _care_.   
   
"Forgive me," Yukimura says, his lips not quite touching Yanagi's when he speaks.   
   
The way Yanagi's arms tighten around him when he kisses him again is answer enough.   
   
 _Yes_.   
   
"Bastard," he says, all the affection he feels clear in his voice.   
   
Yukimura laughs, presses his nose against Yanagi's cheek.  He can't argue with that.  Not if it's truth he's after.   
   
"Renji," he whispers.  
   
 Yanagi's name has never sounded so good.   
  


	2. Omake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niou exacts his revenge

It's just getting good and dark when Niou tugs the rubber mask out of his back pocket. Shaking it out, he giggles to himself, holding it up to the moonlight in order to get a good look at it and congratulate himself on his selection.

Red and scary with horns and sharp fangs and crazy black and gray hair, the mask is almost enough to scare _himself_ , standing alone in the dark as he is. 

Having eavesdropped on Kirihara's phone conversation with Sanada only an hour before, he knows where the kid is going and what time he'll be heading out to get there. Such a cozy little group – the three-headed monster and its little demon pet. The mask he chose seems ever more appropriate, put in the proper prospective.

Stepping off the sidewalk to crouch behind the row of hedges that line Yukimura's neighbor's house, Niou tugs the mask over his head and adjusts the eyes so that he can see every little move Kirihara makes.

Sanada will probably hear the little shit screaming and will run outside, ready to fight, but it'll be worth it, Niou reasons. Bonus points if Kirihara pisses himself.

What's another black eye when it comes to so fitting a revenge?

Nothing, he tells himself, holding perfectly still as Kirihara approaches. 

Nothing at all.


End file.
